


Like Some Old fashioned Miracle

by middlemarch



Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: Engagement, F/M, Post-Series, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 11:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10217243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: He hadn't thought waiting would be so difficult.





	

“Oh, Jesus Christ on Heaven’s throne! Emma—stop!” Henry exclaimed, choking on the words. She listened and followed his command, but it still seemed there had been a delay from the time his mind had managed to form the words, his lips to utter them, and the moment when she had taken her mouth from his throat, her palm from his thigh, where she was perilously close to his perilous closeness.

“What is it? What have I done?” Emma asked. Her eyes held a curious amalgam of apprehension and desire and, yes, persistence. He felt her hand right beside his leg, not touching but almost, just as he had almost, almost achieved his impulse and his shame with the scent of her body, some flower he didn’t know her favorite for its place at her neck, her wrists, the softness of her breasts above her stays’ confinement, the way she said his name _Henry, Henry darling…_

“Nothing. Everything. I would forget myself and I shan’t do it, I cannot treat you thus,” he managed, trying to settle himself, remembering where they were, how soon the wedding would be, how precious Emma was for her soul and not only her physical beauty. She laughed then and it sent a thrill of urgent heat through him. It made his hands shake, driving out nearly everything but the lively feeling of his skin and hers, the memory of her hip in his grasp and the way lust made him hard and aware, the animal God had made before He breathed in soul.

“What a goose you are, Henry! Do you think I haven’t any idea—that I didn’t like it? That I don’t want this?” Emma said, laying her hand on his hip but lightly, the way she might soothe a skittish colt, looking up at him with eyes that were affectionate and knowing, shy enough he wasn’t embarrassed to be the naïf or uneasily puzzled by her confidence.

“It’s a sacrament, isn’t it? There isn’t anything wrong between us, because I love you. I don’t _allow_ this,” she added, stroking her hand along his flank, arching into him and brushing her lips against the edge of his collar. “I  long for it, for you, all of you. I can hardly believe you feel the same, when I want you so much, and then when you do—Oh! That’s what kisses are for, isn’t it? When there aren’t words?”

He saw her sweet face and those eyes he’d dreamt of, in tender dreams and terrifying ones and now in his sleeping mind’s conjectures which left him breathless and yearning, Emma beckoning from their bed, struggling to lace a boot, soapily revealed in a copper tub, her hair in a long tail painting the floorboards with the bathwater. She was right so he answered her with his mouth on hers, a hand at her back keeping her close, letting her discover how perfectly matched they were, love and desire, trusting they would recall themselves when they needed, dimly thankful it was Monday and they had only to wait one more day.

**Author's Note:**

> Time for some romance for Emma and Henry that is not followed by anything cataclysmically awful. The title is an Emily Dickinson special...


End file.
